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She pulled away from their hug and glanced at him uneasily. “I cannot say for certain,” she admitted. “She is unique.”
“The woman?” Barith said, only now putting it together. “She’s what we’re after?”
“We need to go,” Sirus declared sharply. More paladins would come. They didn’t have time for drawn-out farewells or explanations. He’d give them thirty seconds to say goodbye. That was all.
Gwendolyn’s eyes drifted to the winged paladin on the floor, then to Barith, whose tail was still swishing behind him and whose eyes were still lit with fire. “I’m dreaming,” she declared, clearly not absorbing the meaning of their conversation. “This—this can’t be real.”
“I am a witch, Gwendolyn,” the elder declared forcefully, drawing the woman’s attention. “As my mother was, and generations before her. I know this is a shock, but you’re a clever girl. You cannot tell me you don’t believe me? That it doesn’t make sense? That you didn’t suspect?”
Gwendolyn simply stared at her with wide, unblinking eyes.
Sirus’s patience had come to an end. So had their allotted time. The woman could sort out her denial later; right now, they needed to move. “It’s real,” he cut in. “And we need to leave. Now.”
Those bright green eyes locked on his, and a skitter of awareness rippled through him. When he glanced at the witch, he found her appraising their interaction with great interest. His stomach felt like it had suddenly filled with stones.
The cat hissed as the zephyr began to rouse. They’d already been here too long.
On the rare occasion that a rescue had been required to satisfy a contract, the dragon was the one who did the coaxing and reassuring. Not Sirus. Until now. Until her.
“You have to come with us,” he told her, squaring off against her oppressive gaze.
Earlier, while the dragon had gone in to glean what he could from the witch, Sirus had lingered across the street. A flare of blue had flashed from the third-story window, so brief that for a moment he thought he’d imagined it. He’d known it was magick. Not necessarily unusual for a neighborhood primarily occupied by creatures of Folk ilk, but something about it had been…different. Sirus couldn’t have explained it in words, but his blood had stirred at the sight of it. It’s what had spurred him to investigate. As if he’d been drawn to it. A fact he now recognized with extreme unease.
She blinked up at him, her wide eyes innocent and consuming. “Come…with you?” she breathed.
Not in the whole of his life had anyone looked at Sirus like she did in that moment. Most creatures never held his gaze except to prove their own fortitude and strength. Gwendolyn was simply searching. Those pools of deep, captivating green seemed to peer through him. Straight through the shadows of his icy core and into the black abyss of his soul. Her eyes darted away suddenly, as if she realized she’d been staring, and he could have sworn her cheeks pinked.
Had she really just blushed?
Who in the fires of Hell was this woman?
* * *
It was his eyes that surprised her most. They were straight silver, with a hint of blue. The color of fresh winter frost. Which was fitting since all Gwen felt as she peered up into them was coldness.
She’d never been able to see him clearly in her dreams, then there he was—standing in the shadows of her apartment, all ominous and dark and beautiful. He was nearly half a foot taller than her. Lean but solid with muscle. Manicured jet-black hair curled slightly around his ears and connected with his silver-flecked beard. Thick brows and olive skin only added to the intensity of his strong cheeks and nose. His clothes were simple and unassuming. A long black coat covered a cable-knit sweater and a pair of dark pants. Then there were the swords. Two silver, curved swords strapped across his back with a black leather harness.
He wasn’t simply attractive, he was startling—and terrifying. When she realized she was straight-up staring at him, she looked away, not able to help the rising heat in her cheeks. It’d all been a blur she couldn’t make sense of. She felt out of body, yet present enough to feel like she might be sick with nerves. It was jarring and overwhelming. He was overwhelming. She took a step back from him, and a muscle in his jaw tensed.
“It’s time to go, peaches,” Miss Jones said, taking her by the hands again and drawing her fractured attention. Gwen took in a harsh breath, not realizing she’d been holding it. “I hope you can forgive me. These gentlemen can be trusted. They’ll keep you safe.”
Safe? Trusted? Witches? Magick?
Gwen didn’t know what to say. She couldn’t even think straight. Her apartment was blown apart, and nothing—nothing—made sense. “I don’t understand,” she stammered, her hands shaking.
Miss Jones snatched her up into another tight hug, squeezing her so hard her bones ached. Gwen stood frozen, her arms pressed to her sides. “I know,” Miss Jones whispered, “but it will all make sense in time. I promise.” Her neighbor leaned back and shoved a small bag into Gwen’s jacket pocket. “I packed you a snack. You never eat enough.”
Gwen’s throat tightened, and her eyes blurred. What is happening?
The winged man on the floor shifted and groaned. Jinx hissed. The man with the tail grunted and leaned over him. The angel shook his head, grumbled, and pushed himself up just enough to look up.
The giant, fire-eyed man looked down at him and smiled. “Alright there?” he asked.
The angel shifted with sharp speed to grab his weapon. He’d barely moved his arm before the giant man punched him clean across the jaw, and he fell to the floor, unconscious again.
“What is going on?” Gwen managed to croak.
“Go,” Miss Jones said, her voice turning serious. “You need to get her out of the city.” She pushed Gwen into the shadowy man. He grabbed her by the upper arms to steady her, those cold eyes meeting hers. She shivered.
